This World is not Conclusion.A Species stands beyond - Invisible, as Music -But positive, as Sound -It beckons, and it baffles - Philosophy, dont know - And through a Riddle, at the last - Sagacity, must go -To guess it, puzzles scholars -To gain it, Men have borneContempt of GenerationsAnd Crucifixion, shown -Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies - Blushes, if any see - Plucks at a twig of Evidence - And asks a Vane, the way - Much Gesture, from the Pulpit -Strong Hallelujahs roll - Narcotics cannot still the ToothThat nibbles at the soul -

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth That I to manhood am arriv'd so near; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure ev'n To that same lot, however mean or high,Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav'n: All is, if I have grace to use it so As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

Dark hills at evening in the west,Where sunset hovers like a soundOf golden horns that sang to restOld bones of warriors under ground,Far now from all the bannered waysWhere flash the legions of the sun,You fade—as if the last of daysWere fading, and all wars were done.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,Enwrought with golden and silver light,The blue and the dim and the dark clothsOf night and light and the half-light,I would spread the cloths under your feet:But I, being poor, have only my dreams;I have spread my dreams under your feet;Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Half a league, half a league,Half a league onward,All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.“Forward, the Light Brigade!Charge for the guns!” he said.Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”Was there a man dismayed?Not though the soldier knew Someone had blundered. Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,Cannon to left of them,Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered;Stormed at with shot and shell,Boldly they rode and well,Into the jaws of Death,Into the mouth of hell Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,Flashed as they turned in airSabring the gunners there,Charging an army, while All the world wondered.Plunged in the battery-smokeRight through the line they broke;Cossack and RussianReeled from the sabre stroke Shattered and sundered.Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,Cannon to left of them,Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered;Stormed at with shot and shell,While horse and hero fell.They that had fought so wellCame through the jaws of Death,Back from the mouth of hell,All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?O the wild charge they made! All the world wondered.Honour the charge they made!Honour the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred!

Into the woods my Master went,Clean forspent, forspent.Into the woods my Master came,Forspent with love and shame.But the olives they were not blind to Him;The little gray leaves were kind to HimThe thorn-tree had a mind to HimWhen into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went,And He was well content.Out of the woods my Master came,Content with death and shame.When Death and Shame would woo Him last,From under the trees they drew Him last:’T was on a tree they slew Him—last,When out of the woods He came.